


Watching Me

by BlueRoboKitty



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, First Kiss, Galaxy Garrison, Lovers To Enemies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8003659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueRoboKitty/pseuds/BlueRoboKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith deals with the fact that one of his classmates can't seem to take his eyes off him. </p><p>And then something snaps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching Me

**Author's Note:**

> Listening to [Lady Gaga's new single](https://youtu.be/oB94lvJbETE) for about two hours straight made me want to try my hand at some Klangst. It took me like five different rewrites before I was finally satisfied with something. I don't write Klangst. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a lot of Klangst works, I just don't really write it for myself. At least, not until now, I just want them to be happy together. Also, apparently looking up space stuff threw me into a rabbit hole of space discourse, like there is space discourse wtf I just wanted to write about two fictional dudes necking in zero-G jfc.

He feels those eyes on him again.

It makes Keith a little nervous. Not the hard, scrutinizing stare of Commander Iverson whose one good eye could pick up the slightest mistake and reprimand him for it. Not the observant, somewhat bored gazes of the other instructors taking notes on their tablets, just as meticulous with their grading scale if less intense. Not the various looks of his classmates, some curious, some admiring, some too caught up in their own tension to really pay attention at all.

Only one stare in that crowd of thirty people of different Garrison ranks makes Keith’s heart beat just a little harder, a bead of sweat forming on his upper lip and he licks the taste of salt away. It is a sharp, azure glare that stabs right through him. Keith doesn’t have to turn around to know who is staring at him like that. That person has been staring at him for the better part of a year now.

It’s getting to the point where Keith can’t help thinking about it. He sits in the simulator cockpit, flicking various switches and turning knobs as his assigned crew make their own preflight preparations. He goes down his checklist with painstaking focus; no room for complacency even if he has done this what feels like a million times before. He’s at the top of his class for a damn good reason.

They’re all watching him. That guy with the blue fire in his eyes is watching him.

So Keith performs to perfection.

 

* * *

 

“Great job!”

Keith smiles a little shyly as his classmates praise him for yet another perfect simulation. Colonel Iverson, the commander of the Galaxy Garrison, pulls him to the front of the class and barks about how Cadet Song is the shining example for the recent recruits, and Keith feels the heat rise all the way to his ears. But he stands at a perfect parade rest, hands planted at the small of his back and feet shoulder-width apart, looking like the good student he is.

His gaze meets those blue eyes, and his heart skips a beat. That guy stares back at him, face of deep beige twisted in an expression of shock and… something else Keith can’t quite place.

 

* * *

 

 

“Moreno-Reyes” is what his uniform nametape says, but “Moreno” is apparently the correct way to address him. It’s considered unprofessional in the military to refer to someone by first name, and so to learn that person’s name is almost like a rite of friendship permitted to only a privileged few.

Keith wants to know, though. He’s not sure how to ask, and it feels too weird snooping through the class roster like some kind of creepy stalker. It feels even weirder trying to eavesdrop on Moreno’s conversations with his friends, one of them a really big Samoan guy who introduced himself on the first day as “Hunk” for everyone is his friend and military customs be damned. In fact, Keith is sure Moreno introduced himself by first name, too, but that was a long time ago and he hardly remembers paying attention at the time.

In fact, past Keith was sure he wouldn’t like Moreno at all, this lanky guy with a very loud voice who couldn’t walk his talk without tripping all over himself. Apparently, he’s still on the waiting list for a fighter pilot position, which is Keith’s current occupation. It’s a path of cutthroat competition, very few slots available for only the best of Garrison pilots are able to become fighters. And Moreno’s track record isn’t exactly, uh, the greatest, not even as a basic cargo pilot, guys who are only required to fly from point A to point B and back again. 

He’s a showoff, to put it bluntly. Flirts with the simulator like he flirts with the other sex – pushing the limit too far too fast.

It’s not long before Keith realizes he kind of likes that, actually.

 

* * *

 

Keith offers tutoring to his classmates. It’s one of those unspoken expectations for a potential commissioned officer. His brother, Shiro, always says that the military is a well-oiled machine, greater than the sum of its parts. As the top of his class, it looks good on Keith’s performance report if he shares his knowledge and study habits with the rest of his classmates, help them along over the learning curve.

And a military pilot’s life is far more than just flying jets all day. Shiro’s already operational, and often quietly complains about the sheer amount of paperwork involved when he’s on the ground running things.

Tuesdays and Thursdays are Keith’s tutoring classes, and they are not classes so much as two hours of studying and letting others utilize his help if needed. He shares his detailed notes and reviews the lectures of whatever subjects people are struggling with. Students drift in and out of the study room he uses in the Garrison library, and the ratio of girls to guys is somewhat startling.

Perhaps that’s why Moreno is here. Keith feels that sharp gaze before he actually lays eyes on the guy sitting at the end of the table, chatting with one of the girls instead of using this tutoring period for its intended purpose. She giggles with a soft “you’re so gross, Moreno!” as she grins and twirls her hair around her finger.

Keith suddenly feels his mouth go dry, and he no longer has any idea what he’s doing. 

Moreno never asks for Keith’s help, not once. Even though he shows up more often as the weeks stretch on and stays the whole time. He flirts more than actually studies, but he's not distracting so Keith lets him do whatever it is he does. 

Actually, he is a little distracting. Keith can’t stop feeling those eyes on him.

 

* * *

 

“Again, Moreno!? That’s the third time this month!”

Moreno stands at parade-rest as Commander Iverson towers over him, and he has the decency to look a little embarrassed for himself. Lunar rescue simulations are required for all flight crew regardless of class. It’s something that Moreno doesn’t seem to take all that seriously since he uses that time to show off instead. As a result, he's crashed the simulator, again, and brought his entire flight crew down with him. Sometimes this simulations are set up for failure, but Moreno hasn’t lasted long enough to even get to the plot twists yet.

Keith doesn’t realize he’s lost in his own thoughts about Moreno’s recklessness until Iverson suddenly whips on him. “Song!” he snaps, spittle coating his thin lips, and Keith snaps to attention as the colonel storms over to him.

“Three weeks, Song. You have three weeks to turn this pathetic excuse for a cadet into a polished Airman worthy of the Galaxy Garrison. Or you _both_ fail.”

The military is a well-oiled machine, after all, greater than the sum of its parts. As class leader, if one of his classmates fails, so does Keith. That’s how it is. That is the price of leadership.

 

* * *

 

“Are you even paying attention?”

“Yes!”

Moreno sits in the copilot seat, snappish and pouty. It’s been over a week since his latest epic fail that assigned Keith as his private tutor, and they’re making very little headway. It’s two steps forward and one step back with Moreno kicking and screaming the whole way.

“Then do you see now why it’s increments of five and not fifty?”

“Yes, so I don’t descend too fast, I know, _I know.”_

Moreno’s attitude is so irritating. What's he pissed about, it's not like Keith actually wants to be here, either. This is cutting into his extracurricular activities. It’s Wednesday, he should be in self-defense training at the moment. God, beating something up sounds so nice right about now. And he can’t very well assault his classmate, after all.

“I know it sucks, but the faster you get a grip, the faster you can prove to Iverson that you’re not a complete screw-up and we’ll both pass the class.”

“Like you care, mullet,” Moreno snorts with a sneer. “You’re only here because Iverson threatened to fail you, too.”

That much is true, but, goddamn, it sounds nasty when Moreno puts it that way.

Mullet?

 

* * *

 

The cockpit of the training simulator smells heavily of citrus and salt.

It makes it difficult for Keith to concentrate.

 

* * *

 

 

They argue more than they actually train and it’s exhausting. Moreno keeps wanting to do his own thing, and Keith has to pull him back every time otherwise they’ll get kicked out of the training simulator. Moreno has crashed so much, the program keeps popping up error messages as if it literally can’t take any more abuse. Moreno grows only more and more frustrated with each failure instead of more determined to do better next time.

“Well, maybe I’d do better if you’d stop naggin’ me already!”

“Idiot, I’m just trying to help you!”

“By actin’ like you’re all better than me, o-fuckin’-kay then!”

 _“I’m n- !"_ He tries again. "... I'm not.” Keith snaps through gritted teeth, trying to keep his tone calm and professional. And here he used to think that actually talking to Moreno like a person would make him less irritating but turns out the little shit just digs even further under his skin.

They have less than five days until Moreno’s makeup simulation. They’ve accomplished nothing.

How can one person be so obtusely stubborn?

 

* * *

 

“We’re leaving.”

One last desperate effort is why Keith is standing next to Moreno’s door. If they are going to be washed out, anyway, they may as well make it worth it.

Moreno leans against his doorway, wearing only sweatpants that hang low off his hips, exposing the waistband of his briefs, sharp hipbones and a tight stomach. He smells like a shower and his short brown hair is still damp. A drop of water rolls down his chest, and Keith shocks himself with the mental image of catching that drop with his tongue.

“Uh-huh,” Moreno deadpans, a single eyebrow arched up his forehead. “Why?”

“Just shut up, suit up, and follow me.”

Someone so obnoxious should not be allowed to be that hot.

 

* * *

 

Keith can’t hide his smirk. Moreno grips his arm in shock as they step onto the flight line and approach one of the jets built for both Earth reconnaissance and space exploration parked outside. “Keith… Keith, what the fuck are we doin’ out here, man?”

“Tutoring,” Keith simply replies as he opens the door to the cockpit. “Come on.”

Moreno stalls, gaping at the aircraft with his mouth open but no words coming out. “Dude,” is all he can say. _“Dude.”_

“Relax, it’s my brother’s jet. We’ll be fine.”

“Your _brother?”_ Moreno squawks.

“Foster brother, really, but yeah, he’s a Garrison pilot. Now get in here and stop wasting time already!”

Moreno climbs in after him and aims for the copilot chair when Keith pushes him away. “Hey, what – “

“You’re the pilot, not me,” Keith says with a slight smile, and Moreno practically falls into the pilot seat.

“Y-y-you mean… we… I… okay, okay, we’re actually _flying? FOR REAL?”_

“Here. Go through your preflight checklist like usual.”

“What the hell, Keith!? We can’t just - !!!”

“I already told you, this is my brother’s aircraft, he’s pulled some strings for us so we’re clear for takeoff. As long as we don’t leave orbit, we’re good.”

“Leave _orbit!?”_

Keith rolls his eyes. “We are in a space exploration program, aren’t we? What’s the point if you don’t actually go into _space_ every once in a while?”

“Fuck…”

It’s kind of cute how Moreno can flirt with all the Garrison girls who pretty much unanimously hate him and sneak out past curfew into clubs underage every weekend, but when it comes to real flying, actual flying not just a lame simulator, that confidence shatters.

And kind of sad, too. It’s apparent that Moreno shows off in the simulator to compensate for nerves, that he has a habit of self-destructing before he’s destroyed anyway.

Keith gets it. He really does.

Moreno performs the preflight procedures with trembling fingers, and his voice shakes as he reads the steps out loud. Other than that, he doesn’t make a single mistake and the engine rumbles beneath them as they start to taxi to the landing strip. “Oh, God, this is happening,” he groans. “Oh, God, god, god, _god…”_

“I’m right here, Moreno,” Keith says calmly, using the same soothing voice Shiro’s used on him when he flew for real for the first time. Mimicking Shiro comes in handy on occasion since Keith is actually pretty terrible at this whole comforting business. 

“Why’re you doin’ this to me?” Moreno whines.

“Because you need to know what it really feels like to actually _fly._ What’s actually at stake here, why you’re commissioned in the Garrison in the first place.”

“Of course, I know why, duh.”

“Well, you need to start showing that. If you make the same mistakes out here like you do in the simulator, we die for real, dude.”

Oh, that’s bad phrasing because Moreno looks on the verge of panic. Keith momentarily closes his eyes as he gathers the last shreds of his flogged patience, reminding himself that Moreno has no idea what it’s like to really fly, reminding himself how it was just as terrifying for him when Shiro first took him in order to calm Keith’s own performance anxieties.

“I won’t let that happen,” Keith assures him, staring directly into those deep azure eyes. “You just… you just have to trust me, okay? And you need to trust yourself more, too.” He’s literally just repeating Shiro’s words at this point, but they have the same effect on Moreno as they did on Keith. His classmate relaxes a bit and nods. Like a puppy that finally decided to trust its new caretaker.

“Just do me a favor," Moreno says in a soft tone Keith has never heard before. 

“Hm?”

“Call me _Lance_. It’s weird when you call me by last name like an instructor.”

Oh. That’s his name.

 

* * *

 

 

Moreno – _Lance_ – is not bad, actually. Once they take off, he is too caught up in awe of real flying, a sensation the training simulator cannot capture in accurate detail no matter how advanced the program. He doesn’t even show off, as if he’s forgotten how nervous he is or he actually understands the real risk involved this time, and cruises along in a lower altitude airspace. At Keith’s suggestion, once Lance was more comfortable with the controls and the situation, he begins some basic maneuvers to demonstrate his skill and reflexes.

He’s really, really not bad at all.

 

* * *

 

 

Earth tilts far below them in a swirl of clouds and shimmering gold lights and an azure like Lance’s eyes.

“It’s pretty neat, isn’t it?” Keith asks, and he can't stop his smile. 

 _Neat_ is a painful understatement and they both know it. Lance just stares straight ahead, floating in his harness, as if seeing the stars for the first time. Which he is. Like this, anyway. The night sky will never be the same for him again. 

Millions of tiny lights surround them, all in different colors, and they don’t sparkle, they are just there in brilliant existence, scattered in every direction the human eye can take in. Stars. So many stars that stretch like streams of diamond dust to far beyond their comprehension. According to their coordinates, they have about another seventy minutes before they approach a sunrise. In the meantime, they are up close and personal with a planetarium unlike any that can be constructed on Earth. Lance sits there slack jawed and awestruck, and Keith can practically see the stars reflected in his eyes.

“You want me to turn on the artificial gravity?” Keith asks as he unbuckles his harness and starts to strip off his pressure suit.

“What are you doing?” Lance’s tone is more curious than alarmed.

“I figured we could relax a little bit. So long as we stay in orbit, the Garrison isn’t going to come after us. So, gravity or no?”

“You can keep it in zero-G, it’s fun.”

Lance gives him a blinding grin as he unbuckles and takes off his own suit. “God, they used to have to drag my ass out of the chamber, too. I never wanted to leave.”

“You seem like the type who likes to swim in his own vomit.”

“Ha ha, you're _so_ funny, I’ll have you know that I never puked once, buddy. I’ve had years and years of experience with rollercoasters, so no motion sickness here.”

There is no malice whatsoever in Lance’s tone. He’s nothing but playful, with a cheeky grin and eyes shimmering like the planet below them. Keith braces himself against the seat, but Lance giggles as he floats around, feet going over his head. He really is like a child sometimes. In this moment, it feels more endearing than annoying. He chatters on excitedly about stars and space and how he got his first telescope when he was only four and it’s clear the zero-G has messed with his head a little, and apparently Keith’s head, too, because he finds himself laughing along with him.

“You’re actually kinda cool.”

Keith stops laughing and stares in surprise. 

Then Lance grabs the pilot seat and hoists himself closer to Keith. But in excitement or forgetfulness, he puts too much power in his push and ends up knocking against him, shoving them both against a console. Keith feels all the air leave his lungs. Lance looks flushed and euphoric, his heartbeat hard and fast through his flight suit. Or is that Keith’s heartbeat?

Warm citrus and temptation overpowers Keith’s senses and better judgment. He’s drowning in those ocean-blue eyes blazing like a storm.

“This is better than any high I’ve ever had,” Lance whispers, so close to him, breath brushing over his lips. He smirks. “Get it? High?”

“Idiot,” Keith snorts, but the word is barely out his mouth before he feels it press against Lance’s shit-eating grin, unsure who made the first move. His eyes close as their lips move in shy experimentation before slotting wetly together, and Lance smells so wonderful and, it’s most like the lack of gravity, but Keith feels like he’s floating away in ecstasy. He sighs when he feels Lance’s tongue flick along his bottom lip and nipping gently before Keith lets him inside.

Their kiss deepens, hungrier, a little bit of teeth and a lot of tongue. Keith growls softly as he threads his fingers in Lance’s hair and wraps his legs around that slender waist. Lance’s hands dig into his back, and one of them brushes teasingly close to his ass. Keith has never been kissed before, but it’s clear Lance has been around the block a few times as he sucks on Keith’s bottom lip and draws soft mewls from his chest.

“Fuck,” Lance moans, then chuckles softly against Keith’s mouth. “I’ve always wanted to make out in zero-G.”

“It’s your lucky night then,” Keith slurs a little, drunk off this kiss, high from antigravity. He pulls Lance in for more, which the other enthusiastically obliges as millions of stars shine through the windshield next to them.

 

* * *

 

They quite literally stumble back to their dorm rooms, looking for all the world like a pair of drunk kids experimenting underage. Zero-G will do funny things to your equilibrium, especially if you’ve spent the better part of an hour just making out while rolling around in it.

Keith has always been aware that Lance sneaks out like a fiend, but it’s still an amazing thing to witness for himself. Lance has all the guard rotations and routes down to a fucking science, and they make it back to their individual rooms with no incident.

Lance is smart on like an eccentric level.

It’s a thrill.

 

* * *

 

Oh, _fuck,_ he just made out with _Lance Moreno._

It's not exactly the most calming thought to wake up to at four in the morning. It's also not unpleasant, either. That smell, that warmth, still so fresh in his mind.

Keith curls back against his pillow and touches his own lips with a sigh. 

 

* * *

 

It’s a weird feeling, like an actual literal crash, coming down from a high when reality sets in.

Lance Moreno-Reyes is back to his usual loud and obnoxious self that following morning. The difference is that he’s doing better in class. Much better, and everyone is taking notice. The next time he’s in the simulator, he flies like he’s been flying all his life. Keith notices a few mistakes, but they don’t matter because the expectations for this poor guy are so low that he wows them all by doing far more the bare minimum and actually keeping his crew "alive" until the simulation ends. The instructors are even shaken from their complacent stupor to watch him in wide-eyed amazement. Commander Iverson is impressed enough to let both him and Keith off the hook with a stern warning to never slip up again.

Things go back to relatively normal.

But Lance no longer watches Keith.

 

* * *

 

Heart thundering in his chest, Keith waits anxiously for Lance outside the dining hall after dinner. Lance doesn’t keep him waiting long, coming outside about three minutes later, hands shoved into his jacket and looking uncharacteristically serious.

“Hey. You did really great today,” Keith greets with the tiniest smile, suddenly feeling shy. “Did the trip to space help?” He feels his face warm a little at the memory, feeling the ghost of Lance’s lips against his all over again.

Lance shuffles his weight between his feet and can’t seem to look him in the eye, and Keith’s smile vanishes. “Yeeeeeeeah,” Lance drawls, one hand lifting out of his pocket to rub against the back of his neck. “That’s kinda why I called you out here.” He hesitates, then sighs. “Look, Keith, I don’t want things to get twisted between us.”

Keith held no illusions that anything more would come out of that one night when the high of being in space made them leave their common sense back on Earth. Yet this moment starts to suffocate him, anyway, a stone bouncing from his stomach to lodge in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Lance continues. “I kinda, um… I got caught up in the moment, y’know? I was in space and feelin’ things and I had no idea how to, like…”

He trails off, waving his hands in a wild gesture of uncertainty.

“Anyway, I’m just… I’m not into you, Keith. Not like that. The kiss was really nice, like _really fucking nice_ , I haven’t been kissed like that in a long time. But that’s all it was.”

“Then why are you always watching me?”

Keith’s words startle them both. He actually has no intention of pursuing this subject further, if Lance doesn’t want to be with him then fine, whatever. Keith isn't even interested in having a boyfriend, way too much going on to focus on building a relationship that he will probably be crap at, anyway. Lance's words should be a relief.

But, for some reason, he feels anything but relief and he speaks before thinking, like he _has_ to know even if he doesn't actually want to.

“Because… you’re my rival.”

Well, this isn’t the answer he expects at all. Keith isn’t sure what he expects, truth be told, but not _that._ “What? What the – _what the hell does that even mean!?”_

Lance does look at him and his eyes are icy, icy blue. Keith’s heart freezes over just by looking back.

“It means I have to beat you,” Lance replies. There's no malice in his voice, and his face is a little flushed as if he's actually ashamed.

But there's an honest, hard determination there, too, a passion that's overpowering his softer feelings.

“And I’m going to beat you one day. But I can’t do that if you’re like my boyfriend or whatever. Sorry, maybe... maybe it would be different if you weren’t a fighter pilot, but right now I just can’t see you as anything but my competition. I just can't."

God, how the fuck is Keith supposed to respond to that? 

Lance shoves his hands even deeper in his pockets, and says very, very softly, "Y-you may not believe me, but I really did want to kiss you."

It’s not Lance’s fault, not completely. That’s just the reality of the Galaxy Garrison officer path. Few recruits are accepted as officers, even fewer as pilots. It’s cutthroat competition with cadets coming in and out as those who can’t make the cut are washed out and hopefuls who have clawed and betrayed their way in take their places. This, right here, is no different.

Keith is just in Lance’s way.

 

* * *

 

Fuck, his chest _hurts._

_Why?_

Why does it hurt so much?

Fuck.

Fuuuuuuuck.

 

* * *

 

 

It was only a quarter past eighteen-hundred hours, but Keith’s room is pitch black with thick curtains closed tight and no lights on.

The only light that does appear is a blue flash from the phone that vibrates once on the nightstand. The black bundle of blankets piled on the bed stirs and a pale hand reaches out and feels around before wrapping thin fingers around the device and pulling it into the pile.

Keith blinks at the brightness as he checks the message that has just come in. Three missed calls from Shiro. He must have slept through those. He crawled into bed the moment class was released for the day. Fuck dinner. He’d rather starve than risk running into Lance Moreno again.

Because he’s sure if he does, he’s going to punch that fucker right in the throat even if he still can't figure out  _why._

The text message is, unsurprisingly, also from Shiro.

[ _Hey, little bro! I’ve tried calling you but I guess you’re too busy. ;) Just letting you know that I got accepted for the Kerberos Mission! I don’t leave for another few months, but I’m going to be pretty busy training. Call me when you get this message so we can go celebrate! Later._ ]

Keith rips the blankets off him and throws his phone so hard, he can hear each individual piece of the screen shatter upon impact.

 

* * *

 

Keith goes out of his way to avoid Lance.

When Shiro leaves for the Kerberos Mission, he goes out of his way to avoid everyone.

Fuck them all. 

 

* * *

 

 

When the students are released for the winter holidays, Keith opts to stay at the Garrison. It’s not like he has anywhere to go now that Shiro is at the edge of the solar system. Supervision insists he attend the holiday gatherings hosted on base so that he’s not alone. Their hearts are in the right place, but it’s not like being alone is anything new for Keith. Being with people, yeah, that’s the part he struggles to get used to.

But he goes just so they don’t put him on Suicide Watch or something extreme like that because this is the worst time of year for single Airmen living alone, and Keith’s sudden isolation is seen as one of the big red flags. So he goes.

He never stays.

 

* * *

 

The Kerberos Mission failed. Pilot error is the suspected reason. A crash. A mistake. 

Bullshit.

Shiro has more talent in his little finger than in Keith’s entire being. That’s specifically why he was chosen for the mission to begin with. He would never crash.

Unlike He-Whose-Name-Shall-Never-Be-Remembered who's gone back to being a big showoff. 

 

* * *

 

It’s in his extracurricular self-defense class when everything just _snaps._

Everyone, everywhere, from the top brass to the news, won’t shut up about Kerberos, won’t stop saying that Shiro is dead. Supervision puts him in Mental Health for therapy since he’s lost a family member. “Denial is a stage of grief,” they say and the more they say that, the closer Keith's blood gets to the boiling point.

His therapist says that he should be good to continue self-defense but that’s only because Keith used to be good at bottling it all in.

Used to be.

That bottle explodes, and his blood boils and overflows with a fury he can no longer contain.

First they’re sparring and now they aren’t sparring anymore. “Song, what the hell!?” the cadet gasps, face red and struggling against Keith’s chokehold, slamming his fist down on the mat.

One of the instructors makes the mistake of touching Keith to make him let go.

Next thing Keith knows, something warm struggles beneath him, something with rank, and all of leadership that insist on burying Shiro out in space is singled down to this one unfortunate person with bright blue eyes, and Keith punches and punches and punches _and punches –_

“Song! Song, STOP! _You broke his nose, holy fuck!”_

Cadets tear Keith off their unconscious instructor. He's making this _sound_ that's not crying but not laughing, either, and blood drips off his knuckles in bright bright red.

 

* * *

 

He’s gone before the week’s over. 

“Failure to Adjust.”

It would be one thing if he fought a classmate, but assaulting an instructor, an  _officer,_ is unforgivable. 

Keith’s only a student, so it’ll just be like he’s never attended the Garrison whatsoever. They will simply wipe his record like he never existed.

Just like how they wiped away Shiro.

 

* * *

 

He sees the listing in the dorm hallway as he hauls away the last of his junk from his dorm. The fighter pilot listing for the new semester.

Lance Moreno-Reyes.

Ha ha ha.

 

* * *

 

It’s fate that he runs into Moreno in the front hall on the way out, probably on his way to his room for lunch. Those bright, bright blue eyes grow amusingly large when he sees Keith come straight toward him and backs against the wall.

“Looks like a spot opened for you,” Keith says cooly. “Congratulations.”

“Huh?”

Amusing. He hasn't even seen the listing yet. 

“Hey, remember that corkscrew maneuver I completed on our last simulated lunar rescue mission?”

Of course he fucking does, even if he doesn’t say so. Just like everyone else in the room, Moreno looked like he nearly shit himself watching the death-defying stunts he pulled. It got Keith a solid come-to-Jesus talk from the instructors but the point remained that no pilot in Garrison history has ever been able to accomplish such techniques, not even Captain Shirogane.

“Next time you do a rescue simulation, you should try it. Just a little low-altitude corkscrew, maybe around some mountains or through an overhang. Shouldn’t be impossible for _you_ , right?” He licks his lips and smiles a little and his tone is almost affectionate. “ _Rival.”_

Keith grins sadistically at Moreno’s cowed gaze and leans up toward his ear to whisper ever so softly:

“Face it. You’ll never be on _my_ fucking level, cargo pilot.”

The standard has been set. If Moreno thinks he can surpass Keith, well, he’s going to have to work really fucking hard for it now.

Keith walks out of the Garrison for the last time and tries not to think about the heat of that body that was once pressed so tight against his own, soft lips, a fragrance of salty citrus, and eyes as blue as their fucked up little planet.

Whatever he feels, it’s not love. It’s not this pathetic delusion Moreno has twisted it to be.

It’s not anything.


End file.
